


lay down your arms

by junkeroni (hotdammneron)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, best read as accompanied by a mug of celestial seasonings sleepytime tea, human thundershirt colin wilson, i guess u can call this emotional hurt/comfort if u want, it's emotional hurt/comfort for MY emotions, nature documentaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdammneron/pseuds/junkeroni
Summary: It’s a process, all of it. The training, the losing, going back when you feel broken and hoping to all things holy and otherwise that you’ll get one win. There’s a narrative that needs to play out, even if Tyson’s not so sure that it’s playing out in their favor, it’s gotta keep going. They’re in it together, at least.





	lay down your arms

**Author's Note:**

> written at 12:30am with no beta no gods no masters just colin wilson and planet earth on netflix. this is the shortest thing i'm ever gonna post, probably. title from soldier of love by pearl jam. david attenborough quote taken from szn1ep1 of planet earth.
> 
> my twitter is mollstermash. goodnight

It’s a shit loss, it’s always a shit loss. That’s what they do, lately. They play hockey, they don’t keep possession, Mikko’s shots started going wide again and now they’re just. Back to this. Back to losing. 

Tyson’d kill for a win, probably. He’d probably kill for a drink, too.

 

Colin corners him when he gets out of the showers, if you can call his sort of perpetually-gentle approach anything like cornering. Cornering is more of an EJ term. Colin just sort of… exists gently. God, Tyson missed him while he was out. 

“You doing alright?” he asks, leaning a little more than casually by Tyson’s stall. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tyson says, digging through his bag for his socks. He just wants to get out of the arena, turn off his phone, drink a whole bottle of wine maybe and fall asleep before eleven. It’s the little things in life. 

“You want me to come over?” Colin asks, and Tyson sits down to pull his socks on. 

“I’m not really in the mood, babe,” he says with a weak little chuckle. He knows Colin doesn’t mean it like that, he’s a touch more subtle than that most of the time. EJ gives him the worried eyebrows from the exit, but he’s got his arm around a sulky Gabe’s waist, and he’ll be fine. They’ll all be fine.

 

changed my mind, come over if u don’t want horny/sad/mean drunk calls ok, Tyson texts Colin, fifteen minutes after he got home and realized just how badly he doesn’t want to be alone. Tonight, or like, ever. 

Omw w/ blankets, Colin replies a minute later, because he’s always good like that. He’s reliable, in a way that balances Tyson, a way that hardly anybody else can even him out. He’s steady. Maybe that’s a good way to describe it. 

 

There’s a knock at the front door while Tyson’s brushing his teeth in the downstairs bathroom, and he tries to just like, telepathically will Colin to let himself in. The brainwaves get to him, or something, because by the time he’s out of the bathroom there’s a clicking noise and the door swings open. Colin’s holding an armful of blankets, god bless him, already changed into his sweats and an old tee. 

God, he looks so rumpled, so soft and comfortable warm, and Tyson wants to kiss him, so. He does. He gives into it and buries his face into the skin of Colin’s neck, and Colin rubs a big warm hand across his shoulder blades. It’s soft, all of it. 

They unfold from the doorway and bring the blankets to the living room, where Tyson’s already gathered every throw blanket in the house onto the big armchair with the extendable footrest. He sets to work on the setup, no matter how much Nate teases him for nesting, a man can’t be blamed for settling into comfort. Colin putters in the kitchen, pulling out mugs and tea bags. It’s not going to be a long night, but there are preparations to be had nonetheless.

 

“C’mere,” Colin puts his tea on one of the coasters on the coffee table, even if he’s the only one who uses them, and pats the top of his thighs. It’s an invitation, and Tyson would try to make a play out of it if he weren’t too tired. Right now, at least, it’s easier than anything to lay down pressed against Colin’s chest, tangle their legs together and pull the blankets up around them. 

“Are we doing oceans tonight?” Tyson asks, reaching the remote out of the blanket pile to turn the TV to netflix. Colin hums, puts some thought into it, and Tyson just loves him. He loves the time they get together, their little routines and rituals and all of it. 

“Planet earth?” Colin offers, even if they’ve watched it through twice already. “Deep ocean stuff’s always kind of scary.”

“I won’t let any anglerfish get you, babe,” Tys says, sort of nuzzling his head against Colin’s chest. He starts Planet Earth over for the third time, and it’s alright.

 

“You know it’s not your fault,” Colin says with his fingers stroking through Tyson’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “When we lose, it’s not just - it’s not all on you. We’re a team.”

“We’re a team that fucking sucks, maybe,” Tyson huffs out, just to be petulant more than anything, at this point. On the screen, the baby polar bear falls down the snowy mountain he’d been climbing for so long, and Tyson whispers “mood” under his breath, just to hear Colin laugh a little bit. 

“Nobody likes losing, obviously. We all feel it, when we lose, but I know it gets to you,” Colin continues, and the polar bear slips down a bit more before gaining ground on the mountain again. 

“D’you ever worry about Gabe?” Tyson asks, almost out of nowhere, but he means it, he always worries. It’s part of this thing they’re in, looking out for each other.

“He’ll survive it, we all will,” Colin says, and Tyson hums against his chest. “Even if it gets him harder than the rest of us.”

“Y’know what’s getting him harder,” Tyson says, trying not to laugh, but it’s funny, and his shoulders are shaking a little when he sees the soft look in Colin’s eyes. 

“You’re a menace,” Colin says with his voice all fond, and Tyson has to tilt his head up to kiss his jaw, the closest thing available. 

“Come on, you know it’s funny,” he says, still laughing. “He and EJ looked like they were leaving together, I’m surprised we can’t hear them from here -”

Tyson starts laughing again despite himself, and Colin leans in, angle imperfect to kiss him quiet. On the TV, some hyenas are surrounding an antelope, and it’d be a complete mood killer if Tyson wasn’t feeling a little better about their shit team.

 

It’s a process, all of it. The training, the losing, going back when you feel broken and hoping to all things holy and otherwise that you’ll get one win. There’s a narrative that needs to play out, even if Tyson’s not so sure that it’s playing out in their favor, it’s gotta keep going. They’re in it together, at least. 

Tyson lets himself be happy, for now. He lets himself lay here, kissing Colin in the TV’s blue glow, until he can’t think anymore. In the morning, what feels like miles away, he’ll check on the rookies, make sure they didn’t do any irreparable damages in their own right. He’ll text EJ, make sure Gabe’s being taken care of, maybe wheel him and Colin some inevitable breakfast out of the deal. Two birds, one text, that kind of thing. 

And tomorrow, they’ll get back to it, back on the ice for whatever drills and pep talks and chins up bullshit, but for now - Tyson’s got other things on his mind. There’s bird documentaries to be watched, handsome teammates to be kissed, tea to be had. 

 

“It’s hard not to feel deflated, when even your best isn’t good enough,” David Attenborough says on the TV, and Tyson presses his cheek into Colin’s chest. “But life goes on,” David Attenborough finishes, and the camera cuts to whales, and - yeah.

Maybe everything’s gonna be alright, anyway. If it can work out for that bird, it can work out for them. So they’re a bird who fucked up his mating dance, they’re a baby polar bear stumbling up a mountain and falling back two feet for every one they get ahead. But they’ll make it. They always make it. 

Tyson lets himself breathe.


End file.
